


Lost in the Dark Forest

by Fnstylvr



Category: Original Work
Genre: Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Original Fiction, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:33:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1774309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fnstylvr/pseuds/Fnstylvr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Humans… So weak… they think they are in control but…” </p><p>Shyrikk brought up his wrists again and Rhalvor watched the links of the chain begin to crack with a very gentle tug of his wrists.  He lowered them back down and his yellow eyes might have twinkled if they were not so milky. </p><p>“Soon… my little Varanda will be in my chains."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

Not all Elves were beautiful. That was a common misconception. The raiders from the Din’hil forest were a grotesque looking race of elf. They were the sturdiest of all elves, able to cross over the dangerous Iss’ad Mountain Range into the human Mirrinwood forest with little trouble. They were the reason that some humans believed in the mythical orc. Their skin was grey and almost transparent, blue veins pulsing underneath their skin, their eyes yellow and milky.  Their hair, sometimes black, sometimes grey, was long but wiry. The people of Mirrinwood were the least likely to believe in the stories of both orcs, so often were the Raiders attack’s. The forest of Mirrinwood was almost a continuation of the Elven lands separated only by the magnificent mountain pass. It was the only forest in all the realm of man, and therefore a wealthy population. The elves felt it their right to cross over, raid villages and towns, taking with them food, gold, and slaves. Half of everything they stole went to the Katush plain land Elves farther to the East. 

Lady Adara Idyna of Tench, the eldest daughter of one of the wealthiest merchants of the Mirrinwood county of Ardoro, was one of a handful of human’s to own an Elf from Katush, and it was her prized possession. She did not fear the threat of the Raiders behind the strong walls of her father’s grand estate, and when she did walk the gardens she had the Elf behind her, convinced he would protect her from any harm that might befall her. He was magnificently beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful creature she had ever seen before in her life, and she struggled at times not to stare at him. High cheekbones, skin the color of alabaster, hair so blonde it was almost white, and the lightest, bluest eyes anyone could possibly possess. She kept him dressed in the silk clothing he had come to her with. Red and Gold silks, the colors of the Katush Elves, a cloak made of thick red wool and a black sword belt. His sword had been taken from him upon his capture, but it was locked away in her father’s bedroom.

As he stood before her now his pale bright eyes looked over the three new girls with guarded disgust and aggression. Adara saw it shining there, but she knew he would do nothing to act on it. They giggled as they looked up at his towering, lean frame. He was not very skinny, but one would never know the strength that the Elven male possessed. He could kill all four girls without misplacing a single strand of hair. But the Elf was smart and Adara knew that he knew full well he would never get out of the walls alive.  Instead he settled with cold looks and silence. She had never heard him speak, even when she had ordered him to, but she knew he understood English. He obeyed her orders, if slowly, in his own time, with graceful movements and slow concentration.

“What is its name?” her cousin Lucia asked and Adara saw his eyes dart to her quickly as the pronoun used. Adara flushed as she answered and her Elf’s eyes turned back to her.

“He will not tell me,” she informed the girls.

“You should name him,” Her other cousin, Marcia, said.

“He has a name,” Adara mumbled. “He just refuses to tell it to me. He’s not an animal.”

“Is it true your sister has a Raider?” Lucinda asked and Adara pinched her lips together.

“Yes,” she bit out. The Raider had been caught when he became separated from his party. Elves were not known to ever leave one of their own behind, especially in the hands of humans, but he was found alone and wounded none the less. Her father’s men had brought him back to the house in chains and her younger sister had squealed in excitement at the sight of him. His translucent skin, blue pulsing veins, dark tangled hair and milky yellows eyes horrified Adara, but Varanda had begged her father to let her keep him. The Elf had smiled a cruel smile and laughed and Adara had turned to her beautiful Elf and pulled him away. She locked herself in her bedroom the rest of the day. The next morning, the Raider was in chains, shackled to a tree outside, and sitting six feet away from it was her sister, smiling and speaking to it. The only thing that made her jealous of her sister and her own wretched creature was that hers actually spoke to her.

“Is it grotesque?” Lucia asked.

“Utterly,” Adara answered and looked back to hers proudly. “Not like mine.”

He looked at her, eyes hard and she blushed. He always gave her that look when she referred to him as belonging to her. Hers was a proud Elf and he always had an ability to make her feel foolish with a single look.

“Have you…” Marcia giggled, “well…”

“Well what?” Adara asked and looked at the three giggling sisters.

“Well, have you made it…” Lucia erupted into a fit of giggles.

“I don’t understand,” Adara said as her annoyance began to grow.

“Have you made it done things for you?”

Adara frowned in confusion.

“Well of course, he fetches my things and –”

“ _No_ ,” Lucinda, the oldest said. “Have you required it to… service you?”

Understanding dawned on Adara and her face turned a dark red and she could not even glance at her Elf.

“No… I… no I couldn’t… I’ve never…”

“Well you don’t make him do _that,_ ” Marcia said. “I’ve heard stories about what men can do with their mouths and –”

“Stop, stop,” Adara said and chanced a glance at her Elf. His eyes were on her, but unreadable and she looked away again, skin burning red and hot. “I’ll show you the other one.”

They walked through the long hallway to the back gardens and toward the tree the Raider was kept trained too. Varanda had thought it was cruel, but they had soon discovered he preferred the outdoors. Even when it rained he seemed perfectly content in his place under the giant tree. They found him there as always and her sister sitting far too close to him. Their father had made it quite clear she was to stay six feet away from it at all times, but from Adara’s angle, she appeared to be less than three feet away from him. With the speed they knew the Raiders’ possessed, he could be on her and kill her in a half second. These Raiders were frightened, vicious creatures and no man trusted them. Not the same way they could trust the civilized, beautiful plain elves of Katush.

“Varanda get away from it,” she called. She felt her Elf stop behind her and glanced over her shoulder. He was looking at the Raider and she could not help but wonder what the two elves thought of the other. The relationship was contentious, even if the Raiders did pay tribute to the Elven King. To the Katush Elves the Raiders were no better than snarling, vicious animals. To the Raiders, the Katush Elves were arrogant and oppressive.

“Shryikk won’t hurt me,” she called and stood in front of him. “And go away. He’s not some zoo attraction.”

“They just want to see it,” Adara said and bristled when she used his name. Her Elf would not even speak to her, let alone give her his name. Shryikk smirked from behind Varanda, looking at the back of her eyes with his frightening eyes. They then moved to Adara’s Elf and his smirk widened.

“Move aside, Varanda,” Shryikk’s voice reminded her of a snake. It was like a soft hiss, smooth but scratchy at once. Varanda looked back at him and though his chin was angled toward his chest, his eyes were focused up on her. “Let them look.”

She moved aside and looked at Adara with an angry glare. Adara stepped back toward her Elf as their cousins moved closer to it.

“It’s hideous,” Lucinda cried.

“Oh Gods save us it’s disgusting,” Marcia said and Adara frowned but said nothing. Varanda flushed and looked down at the cruelly smirking Shyrikk. His ears twitched, long and pointed, unlike her own Elf’s ears, which had the slightest of tips. One might mistake him for human if he was not so beautiful.

“He is not,” Varanda argued and then stepped back in front of him. “Now go away, he was telling me stories.”

“Stories of murder and thievery, no doubt,” Lucia said, hiding behind Adara’s Elf. Adara frowned at Lucia and snapped at her when her cousin gripped his red cloak. She glanced up at her Elf and he looked down and gave her a single nod.

“Girls!”

The booming voice of her father met her ears and they all whirled around to see Adara and Varanda’s father and Lucia, Marcia and Lucinda’s father in patio of the third story of the estate.

“Come inside for dinner,” Adara’s father called and they all nodded.

“Leave both beasts outside,” her uncle called and Adara looked at her Elf. How anyone could think that beautiful creature was a beast she did not know, but she motioned for him to stay with Shyrikk.

“But my story,” Varanda breathed and looked to Shyrikk.

“Later. Go on now,” he hissed and Varanda reluctantly moved to walk with her sister and cousins.

“I’ll be right back,” Varanda called. Something about the way that Elf smiled, always made Adara’s blood run cold.

**oOo**

“Soon, Plain Elf,” The Raider said in their tongue as he settled back against the tree.

“What is soon,” Rhalvor Tarsovlar asked as he watched the human that presumed to own him disappear from sight. He looked over as the Raider reached into his dark green rags and pulled out an ivory whistle. He smirked and placed it between his lips and blew. His near transparent skin turned red as he blew but Rhalvor heard not a single sound. He glanced toward the human guards at the back gate and they noticed nothing either.

“You Plain Elves have good sight, but no ear,” Shyrikk said and tapped his elongated ears. Raider’s eye sight was worse than humans, and yet their other senses were amplified, touch, smell, eyesight. No one truly knew, nor cared, if their taste buds were enhanced as well. “In the thickness of the dark forest, you must hear not see. My Raiding group will return for me. I hear their whistles for me and I return their calls. When they come, I will help you.”

Rhalvor looked at him silently and the Raider slid the whistle back into his clothing.  The Raider looked back toward the estate. He breathed in deeply through his nose and closed his milky yellow eyes.

“She’s pure… both of them,” he breathed and then looked at Rhalvor, smiling to reveal his fangs, then added in a singsong voice, “not for long.”

“You will sell them?” Rhalvor asked.

“Not Varanda,” he said. “Not my little human pet. She will be mine. And not Lady Adara either, if you should want to keep her. My clan will respect your ownership.”

“She is a human who thinks she owns me. I care not what becomes of her if I get free,” Rhalvor answered him.

“Hmmmm,” Shryikk purred. “You hate her.”

“She is not cruel.”

“But you hate her,” he said and leaned his head against the tree and looked up at the leaves. He looked back at Rhalvor and held up his shackled hands. “You are not in chains, yet you hate your human. I do not hate mine.”

“She is not my human,” he said.

“Yes she is,” Shyrikk said. “humans… So weak… they think they are in control but…”

Shyrikk brought up his wrists again and Rhalvor watched the links begin to crack with a very gentle tug of his wrists.  He lowered them back down and his yellow eyes might have twinkled if they were not so milky.

“Soon… my little Varanda will be in _my_ chains,” he said.

“Varanda would not have you in chains if it was in her power,” Rhalvor reminded him. “She trusts you.”

“She misunderstands me,” he replied. “These humans have it right to fear me. My little Varanda is a little fool and she will pay for it. I can hear her cries already, feel her weak little body against my own.”

“If we do escape and I go with you, will I receive safe passage to Katush?”

“Of course, it is not every day we meet a ruling member of Katush aristocracy,” he smirked and his pale, almost gray tongue licked his upper lip. Rhalvor snapped his eyes toward the Raider and the Raider laughed.

“I know… you walk like royalty… are you… a Prince, Katush Elf?”

“I am not a prince,” he answered and Shyrikk leaned back.

“But you are important… have no fear, I will not tell,” he smirked and pressed a long finger to his lips.

“When will they come?” he asked and glanced toward where the whistle was in his rags.

“Soon,” he whispered and looked up toward the sky. He inhaled through his nose again, eyes closing again. “Very soon.”

Rhalvor watched him gently tug on the chains again. A creaking met his ears as the links strained.

“Very, very soon.”                             

 

 


	2. 2

Rhalvor sat in the gardens on the bench he preferred as Lady Adara walked amongst the rose bushes. His eyes were closed but he could smell her as she moved, the cool breeze wafting her scent to his nose. She had a pleasant smell for a human. Until this family every human he had come in contact with had possessed a terrible, rank odor. Lady Adara bathed often and rubbed herself with sweet smelling oils and rose petals. The smell grew stronger as she walked a little pathway toward him and then weakened again as she walked away. When the scent grew strong and remained at the same level of strength his eyes opened. He found her standing in front of him, hands clasped in front of her. He had found that the one time she was loathe to interrupt him was when he meditated.

“I’m not allowed to bring you back into the house until my cousins and uncle leave,” she said but he merely stared back. She bit her bottom lips a moment and glanced toward the estate. “I can bring something out to you.”

Her desperate attempts at getting him to speak were pathetic and he remained silent. If she wanted him to play the pet Elf she would be severely disappointed and he refused to debase himself in such a manner. He stared back blankly and blinked once. She looked back at him, her brown eyes both expectant and pleading. He parted his lips out of spite, enjoyed the way her face lit up in excitement, and then closed his mouth. Her disappointment was crushing but he took pleasure in it. This girl would make a fine slave regardless of who the Raiders sold her to, whether it be a clan from the Dark Forest or the more organized Elves of his home land. Though upon further reflection, the ignorance and naivety she displayed suggested she would be better suited scrubbing the marble floors in some lord’s receiving room than chained to a bed in the darkness.  He glanced toward the tree the Raider was chained too, little Varanda sitting far too close to him, and made a note to inform him she was to be sold to a Katush Elf and not another Raiding clan.   

“I suppose I will bring you what you normally eat and… the book you were reading?” she asked and he looked back to her. He gave her the same single curt nod he would give supplicants when he dismissed them from his receiving room. “The shed… if you would like I can bring out blankets and you can sleep in there.”

Last night he had slept underneath the stars with the Raider. The Raider enjoyed sleeping outside, as was normal for them during their month long raids. Rhalvor had seen Shryikk sit in the pouring rain, face turned upward toward the sky, a smile on his lips. Sleeping on the ground outside was not so common for Rhalvor. He had felt grievously insulted and woke up with stiff muscles and a sour mood. But he would not ask her for anything and he remained silent.                           

Adara looked back at the estate and he watched her deflate. Turned his head to the side he saw her cousins approaching and his own anger floated to the surface. These three he would have flogged if he were on his seat of power. Elven whips could separate flesh from bone but he would gladly see these three suffer. Their father did not trust elves. It was the reason he was not allowed in the house during their stay, though he found the sentiment insulting. Rhalvor would not lower himself to dispatching a human being and he would certainly not kill with his hands. The sword they had taken from him upon his capture was ceremonial only, though sharp and strong enough to kill, he could not truly wield it.

There were three main classes of the ruling society in Katush, the Military, the Judiciary, and the Legislative. As the lord of his municipal region he fell into the Judiciary and though he had acquired the moniker Rhalvor the Just by those living under him, he had never been accused of being merciful. He had no reason to know the art of battle when he had a small army at his command.

He waited for the next mundane and foolish thing to leave one of the three girl’s mouths as he watched Adara’s face. She was smiling as if an entire lemon had been put into her mouth as she watched the approach. He glanced down briefly and saw her knuckles turn white as she clenched her clasped hands.

“Adara!” Lucinda called. “Come here! We want to look at the Raider again!”

Adara bristled, both insulted personally and on the Raider’s behalf. She hoped he would be the main attraction when they arrived and yet it was not his beauty that had the girl’s interest, but Shyrikk’s ugliness.

“Then go,” Adara called back with a wave of her hand.

“Father said we can only see it if you come with us,” Marcia replied. Rhalvor kept his eyes on Adara’s face as she tried to come up with an excuse. She could find none and sighed.

“Come with me,” she told him and Rhalvor stood in one fluid motion. She stumbled back slightly as he did. She often forgot sometimes how close she stood to him. Very slowly she would inch closer, ignorant to her own actions, and soon they would be nearly touching. He never said a word, never tried to move her away. He waited for her own realization to overcome her and she would step away, a blush on her cheeks.

He followed the three girls to the Raider’s tree. It was a long walk from the gardens to his tree, perhaps a  half mile, but he saw him just as clearly a mile away as he did standing ten feet before him. Shyrikk looked up from Varanda as he heard them approach and turned his head. He found Rhalvor first and his lips grey lips curved upward. Varanda turned next, anger already on her youthful face, and Rhalvor felt pity for her. Shyrikk would not harm her severely, but he would imprison this kind creature that tried to badly to show him kindness. She wanted a friend not a slave and her reward would be rape and her own enslavement.    

“No,” Varanda said. “You looked last night. Leave him alone.”

“He does not need to be left alone,” Shyrikk rasped. Rhalvor’s fantasies regarding the three cousins involved flogging, Shyrikk’s eyes displayed a much darker fantasy. Rhalvor would have then flogged, Shyrikk would have them killed. Even the value the three girls would possess alive in the Dark Forrest, Raiders were also proud people. He’d kill them before he would sell them. Unfortunately for him, Rhalvor knew the leader of his raiding party would have them spared. Perhaps slavery would do the three girls some good.

Rhalvor was taken from his musings as he felt his hair tugged on ever so gently. He turned his head to see it was Adara with her hand at the ends of his hair, gently pinching the silky locks. Before he had the chance to feel indignant Shyrikk began to laugh, milky, yellow eyes dancing between Adara and Rhalvor.

“Naughty girl,” he hissed and Adara looked at him in surprise, ripping her hand away from Rhalvor’s hair. If she had hoped it would go by unnoticed because of the length of Rhalvor’s hair, and the fact that she hardly had to raise her hand to touch the ends, she had been mistaken, and now her face glowed pink. She had never attempted to touch his hair before, though she had stared at it intently. “No touching an Elf’s hair.”

Shyrikk raised his shackled wrists slightly and wagged a finger at her.

“He’s… he’s…” her embarrassment at being caught was palpable. “But he’s my prop-prop-”

“Touching an Elf’s hair,” Shyrikk mused and moved his raised finger downward, pointing to Adara’s body as he did. “an offer.”

Rhalvor heard the three cousin’s giggle. He caught only momentarily the look of surprise on Varanda’s face. He knew full well that when they believed no one was looking, Shyrikk let the curious girl run her hands through his thick, coarse hair. He looked at Adara and watched her lips part and her face turn a darker red.

“I didn’t…it’s just so soft,” she said dumbly and Shyrikk chuckled and looked at Varanda.   

“Soft,” he mused and reached out. The same outstretched finger he had wagged and then pointed at Adara, he then dragged down the side of Varanda’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Adara said to Rhalvor. Rhalvor looked at her. It was true what Shyrikk had said, though Rhalvor knew that it was truer in Katush society than in the Raider’s. To a Raider, touching one’s hair was more like foreplay, an act of intimacy that would then lead to physical contact. In Katush, reaching out and purposefully touching one’s hair would be equivalent to a woman removing her robes and presenting herself naked to a man. Human’s, he had found, were unable to see what they perceived as such a subtle act as anything remotely sexual. And despite himself, the knowledge that she had just reached out to touch his hair was not diminished by the knowledge that it was truly innocent on her part. “I’m… I’m going inside.”

The mortified girl turned and began to walk at  a brisk speed toward the house. Rhalvor watched a moment before making the decision to go back to his bench in the garden. Before he turned to leave he looked to Shyrikk.

“When the time comes, I will find a place for her in my household,” he said in their common tongue. Shyrikk’s little smirk widened and he slowly nodded his head. Rhalvor turned and walked toward the garden, in need of quiet meditation.  

* * *

 

“I’m sorry,” little Varanda said as the three cousins finally left them. Shyrikk looked at her, leaning in so he could better see her. He had been honest when he first told her she needed to sit closer so he could better see her. Even three feet away he struggled to make out all her features.

“Why are you sorry, little Varanda?” he asked her and she turned pink.

“I touch your hair all the time,” she said.

“You do not anger me,” he told her. When she had asked him if she could touch his hair a few weeks ago he had felt the beginnings of his uncontrollable desire to own this little human begin to grow within his breast. He had told her she could if she wished and she had leaned forward, tangling her fragile hand in his hair. She had giggled, only fueling the sexual gratification he got from the gentle tugging of his scalp.

“I’ll stop though,” she said and he found himself angry at his pet. “I shouldn’t anymore… now that I know.”

“If it brings you discomfort,” he answered coolly but she did not notice his change in tone. He would have her soon, he reminded himself. The whistles were just at the edge of the gate now. They were merely waiting. If not this night than the next and he would be free of this place and he would have his little Varanda bound and ready for servitude. The Katush aristocrat found the human’s presumption that they could own them insulting. Shyrikk found it never endingly amusing. If there was a race to be overpowered and subjugated it was the humans.

“I snuck these out of the kitchen for you,” little Varanda told him and took out little wrapped chocolates from he pocket. He looked at it and then tilted his head, a little smile playing on his lips.

“We cannot eat cocoa,” he told her and her smile faded. She looked down at the dark chocolate in her hand, crestfallen. His smile widened as hers disappeared and she closed her slender fingers around the treat she had thought to give him.

“Oh,” she said softly and placed them on the grass beside her. “I talked to my father about letting you walk around a little bit during the day. He said after my uncle leaves that he might allow you to walk in the gardens for an hour a day, but you will have to be chained and held by two guards.”

“Leashed like a dog and taken for a walk?” he asked her, milky yellow eyes observing her closely. He knew she did not mean it in such a way and she sputtered, shaking her head and trying to find the words to appease him. He smiled softly at her and shook his head. “I would rather sit.”

“But… if you just do this for a little while and prove to them that you do not mean us harm then soon you will have free roam like my sister’s elf.”

“I am content,” he answered and she looked at him sadly. Her eyes moved to the feeble chains around his wrists that the human’s believed kept them safe from him.  

“This is no way to live,” she said.

“You could release me and allow me to return to my people,” he suggested but she frowned and shook her head. She smiled softly and looked down.

“I would miss you too much,” she admitted so quietly and so sweetly. Even if she had done as he suggested and found the key that would unlock his chains, he would have come back for her. This little girl belonged to him the moment she dropped to her knees and begged for his life at her father’s feet. The moment she decided that she owned him, she became his possession. He never felt the same resentment that Rhalvor felt. The truth was enough for Shyrikk. Inside himself he knew who the master and the slave truly was. The sweetly smiling, softly giggling, innocent girl before him could not own him anymore than wood could burn fire. The great owl does not fear the mouse. “Who would I talk to? Who would tell me stories?”

“I will always tell you stories,” he promised and she grinned again. When she was chained to his bed, on her back beneath him, he would tell her stories of silly human girls who are too trusting of the Horth’thill Elves. He looked up at the looming estate as her father called to her. He could make out the shape of it in the distance, but no more detail than that. She did not hear him and he called again. “Your father calls to you.”

She looked toward the estate, and saw him before she heard him.

“Oh, I didn’t hear,” she said and stood. She collected the chocolates and grinned sheepishly at him. “I’ll come back to say goodnight.”

He nodded and she turned and ran back toward the house. Just moments later he felt a hand slowly close over his shoulder. He had heard him approach but had not turned his head in fear of alerting the guards.

“Are you ready?” his comrade asked softly.

“I’ve a few things I must collect,” he whispered. The hand released his shoulder and patted him. “I will return for you at nightfall.”

Shyrikk nodded and the Elf moved away back toward the wall. Shyrikk leaned his head against the tree and smiled.

“Oh, Varanda,” he sung softly to himself. He heard the whistles in the distance and he reached into rags. He raised the ivory to his lips and blew.

oOo


	3. 3

 “You are angry with me,” Varanda said as she sat down in front of him the next morning. She had sprawled out a little blanket to sit on, as the grass was wet and cold from the frigid water that had fallen from the sky the night before, harkening in the cold season to come. Shyrikk was used to such weather. His body was strong and resilient, more so than any other creature on earth, so it was not that he was left out in the cold rain that bothered him so. He had suffered through many rain storms in the past, though perhaps none as bad as this, and would do so many a time in his future raids with his clan.

No what bothered him so much was that his little human pet had not come to see him for nearly three days, and as a result he had not allowed his raiding party to help him escape. They were growing impatient, and though he could escape well enough on his own, they wanted the spoils that lay inside the house. Five virginal human girls would fetch a high price, though he had already informed Thyrikk that Varanda was his, and Adara was going to the Katush lord as a gesture of goodwill. Thyrikk had promised to pass it on to their leader, and while he made no promises, Shyrikk knew he would honor the Raider code of possession.

But his little Varanda had been suspiciously absent the last few days and he did not want to risk her being harmed in the process of taking the deceptively weak estate. He rested against the tree with his head tilted back, looking down his nose at the girl he so desperately wanted to punish. Perhaps what angered him most was that she had not come running to him every morning as she always had. She had not brought him little treats and begged him for stories of his home. She needed to be reminded of her place and his hands twitched when he reminded himself he would not have to wait long now to do so.

“Please don’t be mad,” she said with a little pout, her lower lip quivering. He said nothing but quirked an eyebrow, revealing to her for what was probably the first time any sort of displeasure with her. Usually always wearing a cruel or arrogantly amused smile on his gray lips, his face was now hard as stone, mouth straight and yellow eyes hard. She looked down as she sat cross legged before him, clasping her hands in her lap, and he was pleased with the gesture of submission.

“My little Varanda has no more need of her pet elf,” he mused, voice low and gravelly, a throaty hiss that should frightened the girl in front of him. She looked up, horrified, eyes almost wet with tears and she shook her head. He looked over her slightly pinkened skin, imagining the suppleness of it, the softness of it underneath his calloused hands.

“That’s not true!” she called and he raised a finger to his lips, before tapping his ears.

“Not so loud. My ears hurt after a thunder storm,” he said and she nodded. He had told her this before and she always forgot to whisper after. There were no thunder storms in the Dark Forest. Rain yes, but never thunder, and the powerful ears of the Horth’thill were sometimes seriously harmed by the noise.

“Oh, yes, sorry,” she said softly and he felt some of his anger slip away, but not entirely. If he had his way, she’d earn his forgiveness on her back.

“Have you better friends beyond my sight now, Varanda? A pretty friend you like to gaze at?”

“My uncle doesn’t want me to come out here anymore. He says I am a bad influence on my cousins. They talk about you too much and now my dad won’t let me come out anymore because it makes my uncle angry,” she explained and he looked at her, struggling to make out her face at the distance. If he were to lean forward he would have seen her better, but he would not go to her. Instead he raised a hand and motioned her toward him.

“Come closer, Varanda, I cannot see you,” he said and she hurried to obey, bringing the blanket closer to him. She stopped and from where she sat her knees were nearly touching his. It was by far the closest they had sat to each other, other than when she reached forward to gingerly touch his hair with that little giggle of hers. He listened for guards as he moved his nearly useless eyes around the grand yard of the estate. He could see nothing, nor could he hear any commotion, and he looked back at her. She looked at him with an embarrassed blush on her face and timidly reached for his hand. He let her flip it over, resting the back of his hand on his bent knee, and watched as she gently trailed her middle, pointer and ring finger across the skin from the top of his palm to the base of his fingers.

“That means I’m sorry to your type of elf, right?” she asked and he felt his body hum and his face turn hot.

“Where did you learn that?” he asked, eyes taking on an edge he hoped did not frighten her and his voice dropping a level as arousal took him. How this girl taunted him and she did not even know.

“I asked my sister’s elf,” she said and he chuckled darkly. So the Katush aristocrat had a sense of humor…. Interesting. It was not always a sexual gesture, boys would do it to their masters when they were being trained, inexperienced members of raiding parties would make the gesture to show respect to more skilled warriors, but for a human woman to do so to a male Elven warrior, it could have only one meaning, and Shyrikk was quite certain that Rhalvor knew as much when he taught the naïve girl before him that gesture. He gazed back at her and her excited little face with a pounding heart.

“You think using a gesture of my people will placate me?” he asked her and watched her face fall. Her eyes moved to watch his ears twitch at the sound of a large bang far off in the distance.

“What do you want?” she asked. “More food? I could sneak into the kitchens and –”

He waved his hand and found his lips curving upward.

“Will you come to me tonight, as you used to, after dinner?” he asked. “Or have my stories no longer become what you most desire before bed?”

“They are!” she cried and then covered her mouth as an involuntarily look of pain crossed his face. His eyes were closed only a moment before they opened again. “I’ll come. I’ll sneak out the window by the breakfast room. There are never any guards on the East side of the house.”

He blinked once, noting that information.

“You must not stay away from me so long Varanda,” he scolded her softly and she nodded.

“I won’t, I promise,” she said and a small smile returned to his lips. “Will you tell me a story?”

He quirked an eyebrow.

“Please, you didn’t finish telling me about the battle with the Kishnians,” she said. He tilted his head, smiled, and began to speak.

* * *

 

Rhalvor was meditating when he heard the door fly open and the pleasing scent of rose water and petals met his keen nose. His eyes only fluttered open again when he smelt the disagreeable scent of human tears. He heard a sniffle, but her back was to him, and though she did not make the sound of a wailing female he detested so much, he saw her shoulders shake as she desperately attempted to calm himself. He felt no real pity, only curiosity, and he waited for her to turn around so he could better see her face. She remained with her back to him for a few moments more before she wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her new dress, red, gold and black, like his own clothing.

“I’m having d-dinner in my room tonight. You’ll have to hide until the servants leave,” she said and though he knew she was doing her very best to remain stoic in front of him, her voice quivered. After it became clear her uncle’s stay would be a lengthy one, the human girl that presumed to own him came up with an elaborate and unnecessary plan to sneak him up into her room so he would not need to sleep outside. He had simply jumped to her bedroom window and crawled inside, and when he so desired, he could jump down and enjoy the gardens. As much as it was for his own pleasure, he also thought the guards would need to see him outside or else arouse suspicion.

“I’ll let you eat some of mine,” she said and sniffled again. She walked over to her night stand, still keeping her back to him and his eyes followed her. If he was willing to speak to her he might ask what happened, again not because he was concerned but curious. Instead he waited, sure she would give some sign to her discomfort to him in time. He would not doubt if the three girls were behind it. He anxiously awaited seeing their imprisonment, but for totally different reasons than he did the girl before him. Adara needed to know who the better in their, for lack of a better word, relationship was, but he did not wish to see her come to any real harm. She was naïve, as naïve as her sister in many ways, though perhaps possessing better instincts, and she was proud. Watching her scrub the floors on her hands and knees as he sat in his receiving chair, was something he thought would make up for all the times she bragged about _owning_ him to her friends and family.

She sat down at her vanity and searched through it. She often wore little makeup, though she possessed it for parties, and so he was surprised when she took out a thick powdery type substance human women would often apply to their blemished faces. She applied it liberally, and he saw her shoulders shake again. She threw down the brush just as a new wave of tears met his nose, but those were soon stopped as well. She finished applying it and turned around. His face did not show his surprise or his disgust, but her usually smooth, creamy skin was covered in a thick layer of makeup, but it could not hide the massive bruise that was growing on the side of her face. Her right cheekbone was turning an ugly purple, her eye showing the signs of the beginnings of what he had no doubt would be significant swelling. She licked a trembling lip and watched him survey her.                

“Is it very noticeable now?” she asked and he took his eyes from her face and looked her in the eye. She saw his answer clearly enough and looked down, examining her palms as if something of fascination was there. He slowly moved over to her dresser and pulled out the smallest drawer on the top right corner. It was there that she kept her cloths and he grabbed the top one, soft and made of silk, before slowly approaching her again.

When she did not look up despite his proximity he brought up a hand, touching her of his own accord for the first time since he had been brought to this terrible place. He placed the pad of his pointer finger underneath her chin and forced her to look up. She did with a look of surprise on her face but he ignored it and looked instead to her bruise. She looked pathetic, small and sad, face bruised and covered with a comical amount of white powder. He raided up the cloth and gently pressed it to her forward, bringing it downward along her cheek, and wiping away the clog of filth she had placed there. Now stained with her tears it smudged away with some difficulty, but he did not stop until her face was once again clear. He kept a gentle grip on her chin so she could not move away, though she tried when he touched the area she was struck.       

He lowered the hand that held the cloth when her face was void of anything to cover up her natural skin. He looked at the bruise, eyes flitting over the dark purple skin that rested underneath the slowly swelling eye. He reached up with the hand he had on her chin and touched the skin with his finger tips, feeling it hot and pulsing underneath the pads of his fingers. He had always been amazed at how easy it was to harm the human body. Such fragile vessels that were so keen on causing harm to each other. What appeared to be a vicious hit to her, would have been a simple annoyance to him. He removed his finger tips from her and brushed a thumb along her cheekbone one last time before he stepped away, dropped the cloth in the laundry and returned to his seat.

She simply stood there was he sat back down, his back straight and shoulders broad and stiff. He closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of her tears once again, and struggled to return to his meditation. He heard a door slam and when he opened his eyes to see what it was, she was gone.

 


	4. 4

When Varanda saw that pomegranates had come in the new shipment from market she could not have possibly been filled with more excitement. She knew they only grew in the plains, but perhaps Shyrrik would know of them and maybe even like them. She had snatched up two of them and made her way to him immediately. She had done her best to visit him frequently now, even though it was still not as often as she would have liked. It had taken to rain recently and her father did not want her getting ill and when it was nice enough to go out, she was forced on outings with her uncle and cousins. He seemed to understand she was trying, however, and he had not scolded her as he had three days before.

 

Now was a perfect opportunity for her to escape to his tree and give him this special treat. His head turned to the side when she got within fifty yards of him, but she knew he couldn’t see her. He had told her once that he could smell her approach. He had said it was the “succulent scent of vanilla and cherry blossoms.” She had blushed when he told her that, but he had only stared at her, face blank, and she tried not to think about it anymore. His nostrils flared now as she came to sit before him and she held up the pomegranates to him with a brilliant smile.

 

“Do you like them?” she asked hopefully, terrified he would inform her he could not eat them as he had the chocolates. She was pleased when he started to nod.

 

“They are a treat indeed,” he rasped. “Very rarely do we have them in the forest.”

 

She beamed.

 

“We just got them in,” she told him and tried to dig her thumb into the skin. She had not thought to bring a knife, and although she had absolutely no doubt he would never hurt her, she knew enough not to bring a knife to him.

 

“Cease your struggles,” he said and she paused and looked up. He took the pomegranate from her and after making a small incision with a thumb nail, he cracked it in two. He handed it back to her and she placed the second one into his hands.

 

“How strong are elves?” she asked and he leaned back against the tree as he opened his fruit and examined the quality of the seeds. A blue vein quivered underneath his eye, just above his cheekbone, and she found herself not for the first time staring at his skin in wonder.

 

“It depends on the elf, little Varanda.”

 

“Are you stronger than my sister’s?” she asked, curious. Her sister, though she loved her, was always making comments about she had a better elf than Shyrikk. Varanda was hopeful that maybe this could be something she could use against Adara.

 

“They have… perhaps, more strength… I have speed,” he answered and she nibbled on her lip, bringing a piece of the pomegranate up to her lips and bit into the seeds. “Speed always wins out.”

 

“Do you think in a fight you would beat him?” she asked and he tilted his head to the side, coarse grey hair moving over his shoulder and fluttering out over his chest. She wished she could touch it again but now she knew what it meant and could not bring herself to ask. Her face turned red at the thought of how many times she had done it before that information had been made available to her. He must have thought her wanton, but he never informed her of its meaning, and she did not think he held her ignorance against her. He seemed to enjoy being the source for most of her knowledge of the outside world. Growing up on the estate, hardly ever leaving the safety of the walls due to the Elven raids, she knew only what her father had allowed her tutors to tell her. She could speak the five major human dialects, she could read better than anyone in the Mirrinwood, but she knew nothing of the world. Not really.

 

“What do you think?” he asked her and she giggled, some juice form the seeds dribbling over her chin. She wiped it away with her fingers and brought them to her lips. When she looked back at him to answer his eyes were down on her chin, staring intently, but she knew he still could hardly see her. She wondered if he even knew what she really looked like. She made a note to herself to ask him again what the Din’hil forest was like. How dark could it truly be?

 

“I think you would win,” she said and his lips curved upward.

 

“What weapon did you use?” she asked him.

 

“Knives…” he hissed in that tone that had used to scare her, but now she knew it was simply his voice. “And a bow.”

 

Her eyes lit up.

 

“How?” she asked. “If you can’t see?”

 

He tapped his ear and she frowned.

 

“You are lying about something,” she complained. “You can’t shoot someone because you hear them.”

 

“You misunderstand the extent of my hearing, little one. Do not contradict me,” he said and raised the pomegranate to his lips, biting into the seeds and tossing away the skin once it was clean.

 

“I love pomegranates because you eat the seed and not the body of it,” she said and he nodded.

 

“That is common of fruit from the plains. They have others that look like your lemons and limes. Small and yellow or green. Kil-huy’hin and Till’schun in my tongue.”

 

“Kil-huy…” she began to laugh when she realized there was no way she would be able to repeat what he had just said. He said nothing and bit into the fruit again.

 

“Have you been to the plains?” she asked and he shook his head.

 

“I’ll never leave this place,” she said sadly looking around. “Not until my father finds me a husband. Then I will be stuck in my husband’s estate.”

 

“Humans marry young,” he mused and lips turned upward, milky eyes smiling. “You will marry soon?”

 

“Adara has to be married first. Probably to some prince or lord. I’ll be given to another merchant my father wants to do business with once she’s married.”

 

“In the dark forest fathers do not find their daughters husbands,” he said and she found herself wishing, momentarily, that she was from the forest.

 

“They get to chose?” she asked, a longing smile on her lips. His small smiled widened further and he tilted his head. His eyes could truly be unsettling sometimes. His iris reminded her of a blind mans she had seen once when he was visiting her father, and where his eyes should have been white, they were instead yellow. It made it difficult to really read them.

 

“They do not choose,” he answered.  “They are taken.”

 

“Taken?”

 

“By strong warriors. We see, we want, we take,” he said and a chill ran down her spine but she ignored it.

 

“I heard your type of elf take many wives,” she said, nibbling on her lip. Did he have a wife? Or wives? Did he use to own slaves? Human slaves? He spoke much of battles and his culture, but he had yet to speak about his personal life, and the few times she had tried to, he talked her around in circles until she forgot he had not answered her initial.

 

“One mate,” he answered. “Many slaves.”

 

She frowned, displeased with the information.

 

“Do your people not believe in monogamy?” she asked and he tilted his head to the other side. “I have heard the drawfen people are polygamous.”

 

“I did not say what the slaves were for,” he smiled and she blushed and looked down at the pomegranate in her hands. “ _Those_ slaves are common and held in high numbers. Elves mate for life. Once a mate is taken, those slaves are sold, or are no longer used for physical gratification.”

 

“Is it true that when one mate dies, the other will die shortly after?” she asked, afraid she was beginning to bother him with her questions, but he only looked amused with her, as he normally did.

 

“Sometimes. They say,” he touched his chest. “The heart breaks.”

 

“But it doesn’t happen a lot,” she said as if she knew for a fact. “You never die.”

 

He chuckled at her and she colored.

 

“We grow old,” he said and her eyes widened.

 

“But I thought –”

 

“How… old do you think I am?” he asked her, voice low and he placed his half eaten pomegranate to the side.

 

“Um…five hundred?” she asked and he laughed, like a rattling hiss in his chest, but it was more human than she could remember him ever sounding.

 

“How old do I look… were I human?”

 

“Um… I’m bad with ages,” she said with a breathless giggle and blush but then bit her lip as she considered. “Twenty eight.”

 

“I have been under the stars for one hundred and two years,” he said. “And you are just a child.”

 

She grew angry at that. She wanted to be his friend, his equal, not merely a child in his eyes.

 

“I’m seventeen!” she shouted and he hunched his shoulders, head tilting to the side, and chin angling toward his chest. “Oh, on the Gods I am sorry. I forgot…” she hurried out and he shook his head.

 

“You are a child,” he said and then a smile came to his lips and he raised his bound hands and placed a finger tip to his temple. “In here.”

 

“How old will you live till?” she asked, still annoyed, but too guilty to argue with him on the matter. “We age quickly until we are full grown, then it slows… four hundred… but I would be infirm.”

 

“Wow,” she breathed. “I can’t imagine living so long. But how does birth work? I mean if you were all having babies you’d be overrun…”

 

She trailed off as his head turned and his face turned dark. She saw a guard stalking toward them, hard club in his hands tightly.

 

“Come on now Lady Varanda, you know the rules,” the guard called. “Your father wants you back now.”

 

“We aren’t done talking,” she argued.

 

“It’s gon’ be ‘ere when you can come back,” he answered and she felt her anger grow at the pronoun used. She hated it when they called him it. She remained seated and waited to be dragged off. That was the only thing that would get her to leave Shyrrikk now.

 

“No,” she said again and the guard, Tyun she thought his name was, sighed.

 

“I got permission to drag you back,” he said but before she could respond Shyrikk spoke.

 

“You will not touch her,” he said softly.

 

“Oh I won’t?” the guard asked. “Shut your mouth, _orc_.” 

 

It was perhaps the worst thing you could call a Raider and Varanda watched with wide eyes as his own eyes fluttered closed a moment and he raised his face up toward the sky. A moment passed before he opened his eyes, but he did not look to either of them. He breathed in deeply through his nose as he stared up toward the sky.

 

“Hmm…I will kill you myself,” he said so softly Varanda was sure she heard wrong. She realized she hadn’t when Tyun bristled and puffed up his chest.

 

“What did you say… _orc?_ ” he asked.

 

He said nothing and merely stared upward. Varanda got to her feet as Tyun went stalking toward him and she tried to push him away.

 

“I’ll come to the house now,” she said.

 

“Move, my lady,” Tyun said and Shyrikk turned his eyes toward the guards, lips parted as they morphed into an amused smile. She grabbed at the arm of the hand that Tyun had the club in but he shook her off.

 

“Do not harm yourself, child,” Skyrikk told her and she took a step back but her face conveyed all the fear she had rooted in her stomach.

 

“You shut your face, you hear. You’re lucky you’re even alive,” he said and Skyrikk’s smile only seemed to enrage Tyun more. Varanda wished he would merely sit there with his blank face and be silent.

 

“I would say the same to you, _Yurk’er_ ,” he hissed. No one had to know Elvish to know the derogatory word for human that came from his lips. Varanda let out a screech as Tyun raised his club and swung it down on the top of Shyrikks head with enough force to shatter his skull. She felt tears come to her eyes, positive her only real friend was about to be murdered in from her, but to her amazement, the sound of the Elf’s laughter came to her ears. It looked like he hadn’t even been touched.

 

“Weak,” Shyrikk said with a smile. The club was raised again and it was brought down again. Varanda yelled for him to stop and ran to Tyun, trying to yank back his arm but he only knocked her back. She stumbled, hitting the ground hard, and realized the only thing that could stop Tyun from beating him until the still laughing elf was dead. She was about to turn and run to find her sister’s elf and beg him to come to Shyrikk’s aid when her elf raised his bound hands and caught the club before it could collide with his skull again. She watched in amazement as his hand tightened around the club, and to the shock of both human’s present, it snapped it two. The wood was too thick for it to possibly have happened and Tyun stumbled back. He recovered first and Varanda looked at the broken wood in shock.

 

“Let’s go, Varanda,” Tyun said and grabbed her arm.

 

“I will kill you,” the rasp came behind them as Tyun forced her to turn back toward the house. She glanced back to look at him and found him glaring at Tyun’s back with a truly frightening gaze. It bothered her, seeing him in such a way, and the stories she had heard from some of the other guards of what Raiders were like came to her mind. She had begun to disbelieve them, speaking so much with Shyrikk, but for a moment those stories came to the forefront of her mind. They soon disappeared again, at least in regards to _her_ elf, when his eyes moved over to her and he smiled at her as he normally did. She smiled back nervously, felt Tyun yank at her arm again, and turned back toward the house.

 

* * *

 

 When Tyun came into the room with Varanda and informed him that not only had Varanda broken the new rule and gone out to the Raider by herself, but the strength he had displayed with the breaking of the club their father was furious. Adara said nothing, her face still sore where the still angry purple bruise rested on her cheek, and looked down at her hands miserably. She flinched as her father turned red and slammed his fist on the table. Her uncle sat beside him, shaking his head with disgust.

 

“The beast should have been put down,” their uncle said and Adara raised her eyes to him. Though she thought him frightening and hideous, not at all on the same level as her elf, he was a being like they were. Killing him, and speaking of him as if he were a rabid dog, did not sit well with her entirely. Adara thought it should be sold or sent away, but not killed.

 

“He squeezed it in his hand like a toothpick sir,” Tyun said and Adara glanced at her sister. Her skin was red, eyes wet, and fear slowly turning to horror and terror on her face. Adara felt her stomach drop fearful talk about the Raider’s strength might turn toward her own elf. But hers was so obedient, she prayed they would not think of sending him away or even ending his life.

 

“You’ve indulged her too long,” their uncle said and Varanda began shaking her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s dangerous.”

 

“Shyrikk wouldn’t hurt me,” Varanda begged and part of Adara agreed. His intentions might not be totally pure when it came to her, but Adara didn’t think he would kill her.

 

“It’s not human, Varanda,” their father said gravely. “They aren’t civilized.”

 

“Adara’s elf will tell you,” Varanda said and looked at Adara hopefully. “Adara go get him. He’ll tell us if he would hurt me. But he won’t. I know he won’t. Adara, Dara, go get him.”

 

Her sister’s lower jaw trembled and Adara felt hopeless guilty nibble at her heart.

 

“He won’t speak,” she said quietly, her own disappointment coming to the surface. “No matter how many times I order him to.”

 

“See. Even a Katush Elf doesn’t obey. How can you expect a lower life form to? One so dangerous….” Their uncle shook his head.

 

“I’m sorry, Varanda. I wanted to please you but your life and the safety of this household is the most important thing. I’ll buy you a puppy.”

 

“I don’t want a dog!” she cried and stopped her feet. She was no longer red, but deathly white, and Adara felt for her sister. “I want Shyrikk!”

 

“I don’t think he’d hurt her,” Adara offered weakly and Varanda looked at her hopefully. If even Adara spoke for the Raider, surely their father would see the truth? That was what was shining in her terrified eyes.

 

“I’m sorry darling. Tyun, be very careful, but go put it down,” he said gravely. “Make sure it is humane.”

 

“No!” Varanda screeched, tears coming to her eyes. “You can’t! It isn’t fair! Tyun was mean to him and tried to beat him. He was protecting himself. Papa, please. It isn’t fair!”

 

“Tyun, bring her to her room first. Make sure the room is barred,” he said and Varanda tried to run. Tyun caught her around the middle and stopped her before she could get from the room. “She can leave when she decides to act like the lady she is.”

 

Adara looked down as her sister was dragged from the room wailing.

 

“May I be excused,” Adara asked numbly and her father waved his hand.

 

“These elves have spoiled them,” he told her uncle as she left. “If the other one wasn’t so subdued I would be rid of him as well.”

 

Adara felt her stomach sink and began walking toward her room. She could still hear Varanda wailing and she hurried up to her, feet moving quickly.

 

“Tyun stop!” she yelled and the guard did not stop his movement. “I’ll take her to her room, just let go!”

 

“She’s gon’ run once I let her go,” he countered and Adara sighed.

 

“Varanda stop fighting. Just stop and he’ll let you go,” she said, getting up beside them, walking sideways at a fast pace, and placed her hands on her sister, careful to avoid the flailing fists.

 

“They are going to kill him!” she yelled and Adara reached out and caught her wrists.

 

“Just stop alright,” she said and eventually she calmed and Tyun reluctantly released her. “I’ll bring her back to her room.”

 

Tyun hesitated, tyring to see if Varanda was going to run, but nodded when she didn’t.

 

“It’s for your own good, Lady Varanda,” he said gently and turned to leave. Adara grabbed Varanda’s wrist and began dragging her toward her room.

 

“Adara, you have to help me,” she begged and Adara frowned.

 

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked. “I can’t change his mind.”

 

“Get me the key and help me sneak out,” she pleaded. “I just want to let him go. I can’t let him die.”

 

“Varanda, I don’t know where the key is or how to get it,” she said and Varanda’s face crumpled as tears came down her cheeks.

 

“He was only defending himself,” she cried. “He didn’t do anything. Tyun was trying to beat him.”

 

Adara sighed and they paused a moment in the hall.

 

“Maybe… could you break the chains with a hammer?”

 

Varanda shook her head.

 

“They are too strong.”

 

“It might be in the guard tower on the west side, where the gate keys are,” she said. “But by the time we got it, it would be done.”

 

“We have to try. Please, Adara. Please help me. I know you don’t like him but please. I just want to let him go.”

 

Adara felt the pain on her face and remembered the anger and near hatred she had felt for her father after he had hit her. She looked at her crying sister, and nodded.

 

* * *

 

 

Varanda didn’t know how her sister got the key so fast, but when Adara got to her bedroom nearly twenty minutes later she had a key ring with her.  Varanda threw her arms around her sister gratefully but did not want to waste time. She went to move past her but Adara stopped her.

 

“They’ll see you and stop you. I barely got through, “she said, raising her finger tips to her cheek and gingerly touching the bruise.

 

“I need to get there now. He might already –”

 

                                                                                                                       

“He agreed to get you down from the window,” she said and Varanda noticed her sister’s elf for the first time. “He helped me get the key. Go now to the window and hurry.”

 

Varanda agreed, knowing she did not have time to argue, and waited for her sister’s elf.  He opened the window with ease and she did not even have time to realize it had been the window that had been jammed for a few months now. He patted his shoulders and turned his back to her. Without any hesitation, and no notice to the jealous gaze of her sister, she wrapped her arms around his neck and he hooked his arms under her legs like he was going to give her a piggy back ride. With ease and such grace you would never believe he was carrying someone, he climbed through the window and jumped the three stories down. Her heart leapt into her throat, but he landed on his feet, and without the slightest bit of effort, gently lowered her down from him.

 

She nodded in thanks to him, and then ran to the tree, grateful when she found Skyrikk sitting there, a smile on his lips.

 

“The scent of your tears displeases me, little Varanda,” he rasped. “Have you come to say goodbye?”

 

“You know?” she asked, tears once again coming to her eyes as she kneeled down before him. He tapped his ears. Tears came to eyes when she realized she would never see him do that again. She fumbled with the key ring, looking at his chains through blurry eyes.

 

“It isn’t fair,” she cried as she began jamming keys into the manacles on his wrists. She felt herself grow more hysterical when she realized she didn’t even know if any of these keys _were_ the right ones. He watched her calmly as her hands began to shake.

 

“Shh, little Varanda,” he said as she tried to find the right key. “Cease your struggles.”

 

“No, I won’t let them,” she said. He smiled at her, totally calm about the entire situation, and relented. She finally found the right key and looked around, trying to see if the guards were coming yet.  The manacles fell from his wrists as he moved to unlock the chairs tied around his middle. As they fell she moved to his ankles, freeing him totally.

 

She felt no sense of fear as he gazed at his bare wrists, moving his hands to look at his palms, then the back of his hands, and then his palms again. She did not think once about the dangerous position she had just put herself in.  She could only feel the pain of losing her best friend, her only friend. She looked at him, face contorting as she tried to contain her tears and he smiled.

 

“Sweet Varanda,” he hissed and reached up, holding her cheek in his palm. He had touched her before, but never for so long, never so freely. His skin was hot and his hand large, nearly covering the entire side of her face. “Do not cry for me.”

 

“I’m going to miss you,” she cried and then laughed through her tears. “I didn’t get to hear all your stories.”

 

“They come,” he said and she looked to her right, seeing a group of them coming from the eastern wall with crossbows. His thumb stroked her cheek bone gingerly as he prepared their final goodbyes. Varanda could only look down, her chest hallow. “I suppose we must part our ways now.”

 

She nodded slowly, sniffling. She looked up when she felt him lean forward, the heat from his body warming her own. She tensed a moment when he placed his closed mouth to hers, his lips sparking a bolt of electricity to course from the place of contact throughout her entire body. It was wholly chaste and he pulled away without even puckering his lips and kissing her properly, but it had her face burning red and a strange feeling consuming her, mixing with her pain.  

 

“Is that not how humans leave each other?” he asked, eyes smiling, lips curved upward. She nodded very slowly, too stunned to speak. “Goodbye little one.”

 

“I’ll miss you,” she called after him as he stood to his full height. She looked up at him, remaining on her knees and he only continued to smile. She wanted him to tell her he would miss her too. Even after he went home and he had slaves to occupy his time or a mate to spend the next three centuries with. She wanted to know he would not forget about her. It hurt to think about.

 

“Varanda!” she heard the guards begin to scream as they realized what she had done. Shyrikk turned his head, but she did not think he could really see them approaching.

 

“Run!” she called and a crossbow went whizzing toward him. He moved to the side with ease and the arrow dug into the tree with a hard thud. He looked at it lazily and she was momentarily stunned they would shoot at him with her sitting right there, especially from that distance. She watched Shyrikk reach up, to frightened to move, and pull the arrow from the tree like it was butter. He gazed at it, stepping to the side without even raising his eyes, as another arrow came thudding passed him, this time, closer to Varanda. She cried out and moved to the side, raising her hands to protect her face. He looked down at her and stepped in front of her, blocking her from the approaching guards.

 

He turned his back to her, the arrow still in his hands and waited just a second longer. What happened next left Varanda stunned. How he could simply throw the arrow and hit his target, how he could throw it and embed it so deeply into a man’s skull, and that her Skyrikk would do so when all he had to do was run for the wall, left her feeling numb.

 

A horrified gasp left her as she watched Tyun stop moving, the arrow buried deep in the center of his forehead. The other guards immediately scattered, running for cover, and Shyrikk smiled as he turned to look down at her one last time. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

 

“I keep my promises, Varanda,” he rasped darkly.  “For now, sweet one.”

 

Varanda watched him run to the wall at a speed so fast she could hardly track him with her eyes. He jumped the wall with ease and disappeared. When the guards hauled her to her feet, she didn’t know what to feel.                


	5. 5

If Shyrikk had not left Varanda behind Rhalvor might have doubted whether the Raider was going to help him return to the plains with his presumed owner in tow. As he listened to the girl crying through the walls that separated the two sister’s rooms he had no doubt in his mind that he would come back for the girl he had been so desirous of owning. While he found human’s, at best, rather plain, he knew that Raiders saw them as a special kind of delicacy. Elves were not entirely against enslaving other elves, but, to Rhalvor’s confusion, a Raider would rather have a human woman to warm his bed in the dark forest than a plains elf. Perhaps, he considered, it was because they enjoyed overpowering their weak bodies.

He glanced over at Lady Adara and ran his eyes over the ugly mark on her face. It would have been so simple for him to kill her. She would not even know what happened before she lay on the ground at his feet, slender neck snapped in to with a simple squeeze of his hand. If he believed it was ever proper to kill something so inferior, he might have done just that and made his escape, but he knew, that even though he could, without any struggle at all, escape the estate, he would need aid to cross the mountains. He was strong but he was not trained in battle, nor was he used to such vigorous activity. He enjoyed sitting in judgment of his supplicants or sitting by the fountains of his palace, sipping moonwine and listening to poetry. Trekking through the deadly pass was not something he intended to do on his own.

Though he had never thought to ask Shyrikk what clan he belonged to, Rhalvor was sure that his raiding party would help him when he informed them of the reason he had been in the Mirrinwood. Though he knew the King would not be pleased he informed a team of Raiders of their intentions, he would need to reveal the plan I order to gain their help, no matter what Shyrikk had promised him. And it was something he knew the Raiders would salivate over.

Adara stirred and her scent wafted to his nose. He preferred when she smelled entirely of rose water and blossoms. Though still a surprisingly pleasant scent for a human, the scent of her was entirely too tantalizing for his sensibilities. He would certainly never condescend to bedding a human and until he had caught the real scent of her he never understood why they were desirable by any other species than their own. But he had found himself breathing in the pleasing scent deeply until he realized what he was doing and who the scent was coming from. Human women had perhaps the strangest reproductive system of any of the four major species and he realized that the scent that had stirred a disturbing desire within him had been the sign that it was currently the optimum time to breed her. He had been disgusted with himself and for the first time ignored an order from her that did not require his speech.  She had been angry, lectured him about how she owned him, but did nothing when he remained seated, glaring at her, hating her anew for making him feel, as brief as it was, any sort of attraction for her.

Now he remained vigilant. Shyrikk had been gone a day and he knew it would not be long now. The guards were on high alert and the Raiders were most likely waiting for them to let their guard down. The wealth on this estate alone was too much for the to walk away from, and with five virgin girls, well, two for sure,  he was unsure of the other three, these Raiders would find more wealth than they could ever find in entire villages to the north.

Varanda had kept to her room the last day and not because her enraged father had literally had her door and windows barred for her grievous crime. He could still remember the girl’s face when her father screamed at her outside, telling her that she had killed Tyun, not Shyrikk. Rhalvor had watched as she went to unlock the chains Shyrikk could have broken free from at any moment. He came closer when he saw an arrow fly far too close to the girl, and was nearly upon them when he killed the guard.  The only reason Rhalvor was now allowed in the house was because he had stopped Tyun’s grieving younger brother from shattering the girl’s skull with a club. Now he listened to her cry over Tyun or Shyrikk, or perhaps both, he did not know, but he wondered if she would be so depressed of Shyrikk’s departure when she discovered what he would soon turn her into. Her fate disagreed with Rhalvor’s sense of justice, but he knew he had to respect Raider culture, and for Shyrikk, this was what justice was.

He looked at Adara as she pulled her hair back. She had taken to wearing the colors of his people, but those reds, golds and blacks she wore were only permitted to be word by aristocracy and royalty. That she presumed to wear them was an insult to his station he longed to see her in a simple white dress of linen. That was what human slaves wore in a lord’s household and she would wear it every day for the rest of her short life. He prayed it would serve as a constant reminder of her servitude. His eyes followed her as she moved over to the window and looked outside. She turned to him, eyes hopeful but timid, and spoke.

“I want to go for a walk in the gardens,” she said and he blinked. When she got up, unless she gave him an order to remain behind, he always followed her. Usually she did not bother to inform him of their destination. “Will you take me out the window? Like with Varanda?”

He looked at her and she nodded slowly, face full of disappointment.

She went over to the window and looked out. She moved toward the door and he was about to stand when she looked back.

“If you want you don’t have to come with me,” she said, but with a look about her that suggested she wanted him to  go with her on his own free will. He refused to give her the satisfaction and instead turned his head to look out the window he was seated by. She sighed, and went on her way. He stood and looked out the window, quite certain that he saw movement along the western wall.

* * *

 

It felt good to have a blade back in his hand and at the current moment adrenaline was coursing through his veins like never before. On the other side of that wall was the finest prize he had ever had the opportunity to possess. Sweet, crying little Varanda with the innocent gaze and gentle touch. He’d be the envy of the entire clan and even if they did not see her for the truly magnificent creature that she was, it would not matter. He’d keep her a long time. Perhaps, even after she aged to the point where she was no longer attractive, he would still keep her and care for her. She deserved as much for being so utterly perfect.

He could still feel her lips on his. He had been unable to stop himself but it had been a taunt to him. He needed more now. Her lips had quivered against his, reminding him of her fragility and he needed to possess her. His hands itched to touch what had been forbidden to him, to roam his hands over her soft curves. Elven woman were not as soft as human women. It was something he had always enjoyed about their bodies and he was anxious to feel all that Varanda had to offer him.

“The one with the bruise,” he said to Thyrikk. “She’s for the Katush Lord. The other three I care not for.”

“I feel I do not need to remind you on future raids not to give away spoils before your commander can evaluate them,” he replied back tersely. It was dark now. Very dark. And in the minds of the Elven raiders they could see everything that was happening along the guard walls. The sound of their movements detailed every motion they needed to hear.

“Of course,” Shyrikk smiled and looked at him. Thyrikk looked over at him, his older brother still thoroughly annoyed.

“I cannot appear to be playing favorites,” he said.

 “She’s a tribute and I’ve already claimed my Varanda. It’s all legal.”

Thyrikk said nothing but nodded and raised his whistle to his lips. He blew and Shyrikk  leapt for the wall and plunged his dagger deep into the unsuspecting guards soft, fleshy throat.  

* * *

 

Varanda lifted her head from her pillow, eyes still red and swollen from her endless crying, and strained her ears. She thought she heard a scream but surely if something warranted such a scream more commotion would follow. Only silence met her ears now and sniffled. If only Shyrikk were here, she could ask him what he heard. More tears came to her eyes as she remembered Shyrikk’s departure.  It was such a confusing mixture of emotions swirling inside of her. She felt guilty about Tyun’s death, but part of her could not help but think he deserved it. It was because of him that they were going to kill Skyrikk. If she had not been there in time he would have killed Shyrikk simply for defending himself. The true cause of her current distress was knowing Shyrikk was gone and wouldn’t be coming back. He’d forget all about her and tell someone else his stories. She wished he was still outside, chained to the tree, unable to leave. She was furious with Tyun that he had made it necessary to release him. A part of her that horrified her, was happy he had been killed.

She thought she heard another move and got out of bed, ignoring the unlit candle by her bed and moved to her bedroom door. She opened it and poked her head out, listening, but she heard nothing. Only total silence. That was what had the hair on the back of her neck standing up on end. It was never this quiet. Not with so many people on the estate. The servants… the guards… why was it so quiet?

“Hello?” she called softly. “Adara?”

She stepped into the hall and went over to her sister’s door, but before she could knock she heard the sound of footsteps far down the hallway and turned her head. She saw a guard come running toward her, breathing heavy.

“back in your room, my lady. Hurry. Back into your room!”

She obeyed and he was close behind. He slammed the door shut and shoved her toward the bed before blocking the door with her dresser. She watched, terrified, and lowered herself to the floor.

“What’s happening?” she cried and the guard shook his head, holding his sword out before him.

“I… I don’t know,” he breathed. “It’s… chaos. They come out of nowhere. You can’t hear them and by the time you see them… stay down my lady please.”

“Where’s my sister? Papa?”

“I don’t know,” he answered and her eyes widened.

“Go and find them!” she cried and he shushed her.

“Be quite!” he hissed. “We will hide it out here. Then find them if they are still alive.”

“No!” she said getting to her feet. “We have to –”

Her words died on her lips and she collapsed back to the ground as a knife  buried itself in his throat, sticking into the thick wood of the wall behind him, killing him instantly and keeping him standing up. Then a black mass came in through the window and moved to his body, yanking the knife from his throat and watching him collapse to the ground. She whimpered, covered her mouth with her hand, and pressed herself into her bed, hoping the attacker would move on if he did not find her.

“I do hate the smell of your tears,” she heard a familiar hiss in the darkness and the black silhouette turned. He took a step forward, the moonlight revealing his truly frightening face. In the dark room his eyes almost glowed, like a cat’s, his skin so white it nearly glowered. She trembled in fear a moment, but when his lips curved she felt more at ease. He wouldn’t hurt her. She knew he wouldn’t.

“Shyrikk?” she asked, voice cracking. “What’s happening?”

“Oh Varanda,” he mused, wiping the blood of his knife and tucking it into his belt. “You did not think I would leave you for long did you? I promised to always tell you stories remember?”

“He wasn’t going to hurt me,” she said dumbly, not looking to the crumpled dead body on the floor. He looked down at it, nudged it with his boot, and then turned his gaze back on her.

“Are you scared of me, little Varanda?” he asked with teasing disappointment. “I had anticipated a … more friendly reunion.”

There was a banging on the door and she jumped, pressing herself to the bed as tears of terror fell from her eyes and Shyrikk turned his head and hissed something out in his tongue and the banging stopped. She did not hear the reply but when Shyrikk looked back at her there was no sound. She knew he was going to protect her now. He was still her elf, and she got to her feet. She went to him and he watched her with that little smile of his.

She was so confused and so scared that she sought protection in the arms of the friend she had grown to trust. He had to have thought she was in danger when he came in. His body was lean but she could feel the power he possessed as she clutched at the rags on his chest. Heat radiated off of him and she realized how cold the room was. In her earlier distress she had not allowed a servant to come in and light her fire for the night.

“What’s going on?” she asked and his arms moved to engulf her. She felt safe in that moment, warm and protected.

“Oh, sweet Varanda,” he breathed and his hands gripped her waist, squeezing gently. His hands moved lower to grip her hips and pulled her more tightly to him. She blushed and tried to gently push away from him, palms on his chest, but it was like trying to move a brick wall.

“Shyrikk,” she breathed, uncomfortable with how close he was and where his hands were on his body. She knew this was an inappropriate embrace and not the embrace of friends reuniting. “Shyrikk…”

 She was not truly seized by any sort of fear of him until he leaned down, his mouth against her ear, breath hot, and gently trailed his tongue from lobe to tip. It was hot and wet, and though it did something to her body, she knew it wasn’t right and she tried to move her head away. It was then that he grabbed the other side of her head, threading his large hands through her hair, an act she knew now could only be sexual, and he licked her ear one last time.

“Shyrikk, please, stop,” she whimpered and pressed against his chest again. This time he did released her but he shoved gently, sending on stumbling back until she hit the bed. He walked toward her and she tried to scramble away, but that only succeeded in placing her on the bed and his lips curved upward.

“My, my, Varanda… you move fast,” he teased her, coming closer. He pressed a knee down on her bed and reached for her but she squirmed away from him again, still not wholly understanding what was happening. “Come to me now, sweet child. I will take you to your sister.”

She felt hopeful at that but still did not reach out for his outstretched hand.       

“She’s alive?”

“Of course she is alive,” he answered and tilted his head. “Don’t you trust me anymore, little Varanda?”

“Yes….” She said but was not so sure at that moment. Still, she reached out and placed her hand in his, letting it engulf her own gently and tug her toward him. He scooped her up in his arms and she squeaked a moment, but wrapped her arms around his neck. He moved toward the door and kicked the dresser to the side so he could get to the hall, and she wondered why she could not just walk beside him. After a moment the fear and discomfort she had felt in her bedroom passed and allowed herself to feel happiness that Skyrikk had returned.

“Will you stay with me now, Shyrikk?” she asked, hopefully. He laughed at her.

“I don’t belong to you anymore, little Varanda,” he said and she felt her bitter disappointment return and she nodded slowly. When he spoke next she went numb and her arms slipped from around his neck, a dread so deep she had never experienced anything like it. “You belong to me.”


	6. 6

Even as her arms slipped from around his neck Shyrikk was beginning to feel his resolve melt away into nothingness. He had promised his brother on his honor that he would return directly to the rendezvous point once he had collected his prize. When she had retreated to her bed he had considered taking pleasure with her quickly, claiming her the way he so desired to claim her, and then return with her, but it was not the question of his honor that halted him from doing just that. When he finally took her for the first time he wanted to take his time. He wanted to relish it. Every single murmur, whimper, or mew would be heavenly to his ears. The feel of her body so fragile and vulnerable, so unable to resist his power as she writhed beneath him would make his months of waiting worth it.

He would not ruin it by rushing it. He told himself as her face transformed from hope to fear before his eyes, that the longer he had to wait the sweeter it would be. But like a boy with a new toy he longed to play with her, and he did not know if he could help himself from slipping into a room as they walked down the hall and ravishing her then. But even if he did have all the time in the world, taking her then, in the house, was too dangerous. Should a guard still live, or a servant even, come from behind, and bludgeon him across the head while he could not defend himself, his life might be taken.

“Shyrikk?” her soft voice, usually so full of near devotion for him was hallow with betrayal and he looked over at her, eyes locking onto hers. Though his sight was still not good, it was better than it was in the light of day, which left his eyes aching and his head throbbing. What little sight he did possess was made for the dark, and he found, in the darkest light he had ever had the opportunity to see her in, she was even more perfect than he had thought. His image of her, constructed from the blur she presented from afar, and from the brief moments in which he could lean in close and examine her, had been favorable, but she was a near goddess in reality.

“I thought we were friends,” she said weakly. “What… what’s going to happen…”

He strained his ears as he walked down the corridors, not entirely sure where he was going, and unsure if any other guards were hidden that might attempt an ill-fated rescue. They would certainly not overpower or harm him, but Varanda might be injured in the process and that he would not tolerate under any circumstances. Her life was to be maintained and her body was to remain unblemished until he could run his eyes over her.

“You are mine now, little Varanda, to do with as I please,” he answered, arousal growing as the words left his lips. Words he had wished to tell her for so long. Words which were now true, and his damnable brother, so frightful of letting others think he was giving him preferential treatment, would not even give him the opportunity to sample his spoils and claim his prize.

“We were friends…” she whispered, as if sorting it through in her head, unbelieving. “I trusted you.”

“You are a pretty little fool,” he told her. The overpowering smell of the salt in her tears once again met his nose. He crinkled his nose slightly and looked at her again as he took a blind turn down another hall. He was amazed at the size of the home and wondered briefly what she might think of his own home… her home now. It was not a hovel by any means, but in the forest, they did not possess such mansions. Even the richest of clan leaders. There was simply not enough room. She was looking down slightly, eyes far off and slightly glazed. He was surprised at her calmness, but he had seen shock often enough, and could recognize it in her now.

“Shyrikk you can stay here with me. I won’t chain you up… it doesn’t have to change,” she pleaded, small hands gripping at the clothing on his chest.

“That cannot be, sweet one, but we will be friends still,” he told her.

“Not friends…” she whispered. “I’m… I’ll be…”

“My slave,” he finished for her .

“What… what will be… expected….” She asked, obviously her situation still not having totally sunk in. So deep had been her trust for him, it was difficult to shake her image of him loose from her shocked brain.

His response was to lean down and lick a tear from her cheek. She jerked her head to the side, all doubt leaving her, and she began to squirm away. He laughed as she managed, with surprising speed, to swing her legs out of his arms, but his grip on her middle kept her feet from ever touching the ground.

“Little vixen,” he nearly cooed as she fought him, her pathetic attempts hardly registering on his body. He continued to walk a moment until a hand reached up, grabbed a fistful of hair, and pulled hard. There was little Varanda could ever do to hurt him without a weapon and him being unconscious or otherwise subdued, but pain radiated across his scalp and he dropped her to the floor. She let go immediately and tried to run away but he need only reach out and grab the back of her dress. He yanked her back to him and her back collided with his front and he smiled at the weakness of her.

“Little Varanda,” he rasped in her ear and the smell of her tears bombarded his nostrils. He sighed and reached into the bag he had draped over a shoulder and rested by his hip. It had only his essentials for a raid, which included the always needed extract of the Eth-ni’hyle flower. It grew only in the darkest point of the Din’hil forest. Lethal to humans in a high enough dose, but in a dose small enough, was exceedingly handy in keeping them docile. He pinched the leaf in his bag until he felt slight dampness on his finger pads and brought up his fingers.

“Don’t fear, pet,” he breathed and placed his fingers to his lips. She squirmed but he was able to force two fingers into her mouth and press them to her tongue. She tried to bite but he withdrew quickly and the effect was nearly instant. She swayed a moment and then leaned back into him, blinking rapidly.

“Just breathe,” he ordered, griping her hips in his hands again and pressed his nose into her hair. Her scent electrified him and he lowered her to the ground. Though it was rare, he had seen humans become so frightened by the paralysis that their heart either burst in their chest or they suffocated. “Breathe sweet Varanda.”

He saw the panic glowing in her eyes as she looked up at him, and as the final movement left her body, her heaving chest slowed slightly. After she realized that her breathing would not stop, she calmed some, but a single tear dripped from her eye and he looked over her paralyzed body. It would pass within a few hours, but until then, she would be totally immobilized. His lips curved upward as he looked at her, so vulnerable before him.

“Hmmm… you are safe, sweet Varanda,” he told her, reaching up to touch her hair. He ran his hand over the silky locks, so different from his own race, and relished the feeling. He slid his fingers into her hair, a shiver of delight making its way down his spine as he felt himself begin to harden.  He moved his other hand to wipe away another tear and he looked around, listening for movement. When he heard none he decided he had a few moments he could spare.

“You’ve taunted me so long,” he rasped, his voice deep and low with arousal. His hand moved from her cheek and glided downwards ever so slowly. Her skin was so soft underneath the rough skin of his hands and he trailed his fingers down over her skin and paused at her bare throat. He stroked her there softly, knuckles brushing against the supple flesh, before gently wrapping a hand around her throat. “Don’t fear, my sweet human pet. I won’t take you know… merely… a taste…”

He lowered his hand to trail to the swell of her breasts, well concealed by the white night gown that had her covered completely. He trailed his hand downward, feeling her soft warmth. His hand moved over her breasts, squeezing one gently and listening to the little squeak that left her lips. It might have been a scream were she not currently indisposed. He looked up at her eyes a moment. Normally, she would not have been able to make even that much noise. He was worried, in his effort to keep from accidently killing her, which had occurred, he had not given her enough. When it was clear she could still not move, he continued. He lowered his hand further still then, trailing it over her flat stomach and then down to her hip.

“You’ve a body made for fucking,” he breathed. He was straining against his clothing now, every inch of him burning to claim her for his completely. He fisted the sides of her night gown, lifting it slightly, and then running his hands over her thighs. He knew if he hiked the white fabric all the way up to her waist, he would bury himself inside of her right then and there, damn the consequences.

“When the time comes, sweet one, I will make sure you like,” he told her, squeezing her thigh firmly, digging his fingers into the soft flesh, mindful not to harm her. “In no time at all you’ll be like any other whore that sells herself for a cheap copper. You’ll writhe beneath me, beg for me, and like the good girl you are, I will reward you.”

He pulled his hand from her thigh as he felt the desire to slip a finger deeply inside of her, feel her tightness, that tightness that now belonged to him. Instead he raised a hand to her chest again, gently pulling at the strings that held together the front of her night gown.

“Oh, Shhh,” he cooed and wiped away another tear that escaped her terrified eyes. “You always loved my stories. They taught you things of the world,” he mused and pushed her night gown to the side, revealing the swell of her breasts. He leaned down and placed his lips to the supple skin, longing to pull the fabric down further still and wrap his lips around a nipple. He wanted to know what her breasts would look like. What color were her nipples. Perfect no doubt, made for sucking and pinching. Made for him. She sucked on the soft skin a moment, leaving a little red mark as he pulled his lips away. “This is the way of the world. The weaker being made to submit to the stronger. You were a sweet pretend mistress. I promise I will be a kind master.”

“Pluh… pluh…” she breathed and he shushed her.

“You will tire yourself if you try to fight it,” he told her, speaking of the poison. “Then you’ll sleep for days.”

His finger tips trailed over her color bone as he looked down at her breasts, taking the time to listen for any movement again. He heard voices off in the distant but they were in his tongue, and he did not worry himself, though the noise did remind him he was breaking his promise to his brother. He growled softly and leaned down, pressing his nose to her neck and breathing in deeply. Her scent was intoxicating and it only drove his urge on further. He kissed her throat, breathing against her, and darted out a tongue to lick the hot flesh. He sucked on it firmly, tasting her skin, and he felt her shiver. He could have given her more Eth-ni’hyle without doing her any harm, but he had been fearful of damaging her. Besides, her slight movement, the breathy sounds she was making, even if they were out of protest, brought him more joy than her limp body ever could. It was another reason he did not want to take her in that moment. Even if she fought at first, he wanted her free to move when he took her, not limp like the dead. He nipped at her hot skin, feeling as well as hearing the sound of her pulse pounding against her throat.

“Be mindful of how lucky you are now,” he told rasped against her throat and placed another kiss to the spot he had marked. “Another would have torn into your innocence already, bleeding you and hurting you. He would not care for the tears of a silly human girl.”

He reached up and gently stroked the side of her face. She looked up at him, betrayal, fear, and sadness in her eyes, but also the slightest glimmer of anger. He leaned down and licked the area beside her eyes by her temple, ridding his nose of the scent of the salt that had remained after the tears had dried. 

“I will enjoy you in any way I wish, but I will try to minimize your pain,” he told her, touching her hair one last time before he decided that he needed to begin moving once again. Finally, he found the will power to move his hand away from her and scooped her back up into her arms. She slumped against him, head resting on his chest.  She’d sleep soon. The Eth-ni’hyle had that effect on humans. As he finally managed to find his way out of the large mansion, he was still burning with desire.

* * *

 

Adara, Lucinda, Lucia and Marcia were bound and gagged like the other females that had been taken from the house, but noting their clothing, had them separate from the rest. The ropes that were used were thick, coarse and very painful. Her wrists were raw already, but it was mainly because she had been trying to wiggle free since she awoke. She had been hit over the head in the gardens so hard she lost consciousness (though this she could not remember)and now she was quite certain she had a bruise above her right eye to match the one on her cheek. Her head was throbbing and her nose was runny, and it was not until she used her chafed wrists to wipe it away that she realized her nose was bleeding. She sniffled and looked around her for a rock. The elves around her were seated and counting the coins, gold and jewels they had found, or were standing and speaking to each other, sharpening daggers and fixing arrows. No one was paying attention to the girls they thought were still sleeping.

She found a rock that might be suitable for cutting the rope but it was nearly six feet away from where she lay with her unconscious cousins. All she knew was she needed to find Varanda immediately. When she did not see her lying near them, nor with the female servants the elves had deemed beautiful enough to keep alive, her heart had nearly burst in her chest. The fear only built when what looked like the last of the raiding party came into the camp, one of them holding her Elf’s beautiful sword and sword belt. She had looked to see if Shyrikk was among them but he wasn’t and she chalked it up to an unfortunate coincident that the day after they set him free a raiding party attacked their home.

Seeing no other option she began crawling toward the rock but it was difficult with her wrists, thighs, and ankles bound with ropes. She had heard her sister tell her about their ability to hear before but she had never paid it much mind. It did not occur to her that no matter how silent she thought she was being, and how many humans she might have been able to avoid, she would never be able to sneak away from a group of Raiders. A few turned to look at her the moment she began to crawl and she whimpered as one came stalking toward her, a cruel smile on his lips and a frightening look in his eyes. She hurried toward the rock, feeling ashamed and humiliated as more elves turned to look and began to laugh at how pathetic her attempts were. Her face burned red, but she could think of nothing else to do.

The Raider that had approached her finally grabbed her and lifted her up as if she was a piece of paper and dropped her back with her cousins. He said something, looking down at her, and with mocking gentleness, reached out to stroke her bruised cheek. A tear left her eyes as her fear grew and she felt like she was going to be sick. She prayed she wouldn’t, as the rag that had used to gag her was always making its way toward the back of her throat and she was terrified of suffocating.

She heard a voice then, spoken in a tongue she did not know, but was certainly not the hissing, raspy language of the Raiders. The hand withdrew immediately and she turned to see the owner of the voice. Her eyes widened slightly when she realized that the voice came from the one being she had never wanted to hear speak more. Standing there a few feet away was her elf, looking even more magnificent standing there amongst the savages. His beauty could truly not be surpassed and she tried to sit up so she could move toward him, but the Raider that had approached her placed a boot to her chest, forcing her back into the dirt, and pressing down with a painful amount of force. She moaned in pain but the Raider ignored her and simply jabbed his dagger at her elf through the air, saying something in his tongue that could not have been kind. Before anything more could be done an elf that appeared to be the leader of the Raiders stepped up beside her elf and placed his sword and sword belt into his hand. Her elf replied and wrapped the sword belt around his middle, capping off his truly imposing appearance.

The elf moved away from her, removing his boot from her chest with a grunt, and he stormed off to the approving murmurs of a few of the other Raiders. She sat up as her elf walked toward her and she hoped that even if she was at his mercy now, and not the other way around, he would protect her. He approached her and said something else, holding out his hand, and a Raider placed a dagger into his grasp. She sucked in a breath, terrified he was going to kill her. It had always hurt, his obvious disdain for her, but it was not until now that she thought his disgust and contempt were actually just hatred. But instead of being killed like she thought she was going to be, he instead used it to cut the ropes binding her feet and thighs, but not her wrists. He then raised the knife to her cheek and used it to cut through the cloth holding in the gag. She spit it out and breathed in deeply.

“Where’s Varanda,” she asked him immediately. “Where’s my sister?”

He said nothing but handed the dagger back to its owner.

“ _Please_!” she called, her fear for her sister’s life more important than her pride. She knew her father was dead. She knew her uncle was dead. Men were rarely taken captive, and when they were they were young strong men that could be of use. Not old or inform. She would mourn for her father later. Right now she needed to know where Varanda was. The desperation in his voice seemed to catch her elf’s attention and he turned a moment to look at her before slowly and with his usual grace, raised a hand and pointed to the side of the little clearing they were in. She followed his point and found Varanda laying on the ground with a grey wool blanket draped over her. She watched intently until she was certain she saw her sister breathing and then scrambled toward her, never getting to her feet in fear that the elves might think she was trying to escape. She shook her sister but she did not awaken and she became fearful something was wrong. She did so again, crying out her name, her voice cracking, but once again her sister remained deeply unconscious.

“She won’t awake, my lady,” she heard a mocking hiss to her right. She turned her head to see Shyrikk leaning against a tree, spinning his dagger in his hand, the tip pressed against the finger tip of an opposite hand.  She had not been able to see him earlier because from where she was, a tree blocked the sight of him. Now she could see him standing there, lips curved with mocking amusement and she found an angry scowl coming to her face.

“What did you do?” she asked, touching her sister’s cheek gently.

“Eth-ni’hyle. Helps humans sleep,” he explained. “That fool over there nearly shattered your skull. It was too dangerous to give it to you while you slept. She’ll be sleeping a day or so.”

She got up to her feet and walked toward him. When a few Raiders stepped forward as if to stop her from approaching him he held up a hand and they backed away. She looked at him pleadingly, hoping he had even an ounce of feeling for them, but she saw only cold amusement in his eyes.

“Please, Shyrikk. Let my sister and I go. We never meant any harm,” she pleaded and his eyes moved to where Varanda was sleeping peacefully and a shiver ran up Adara’s spine. The look in his eyes was truly frightening. It was dark, lustful….obsessive.

“She has not a malicious bone in her fragile body,” he mused. “But that does not earn freedom.”

“We let you go,” Adara told him, face crumpling slightly.

“Because you so detested my enslavement?” he smiled cruelly when her face fell further at his knowing smile. “I admit I might feel a little guilty if it were so… but it was not.”

“So its… payback?... all the races have slavery…” her voice was a whisper now.

“Then you will know it’s nothing personal,” he smiled and then raised his eyes and looked behind her. “For me.”

She turned slowly to find her elf a few feet away looking at her with a blank face, but the way he stood, the little lift of his chin, demonstrated a change in their relationship she had not truly understood until right now. She looked at him, lip quivering and then looked around the rest of the camp.  The Raiders were watching, some with boredom, some with amusement, and others with either unconcealed disgust or lust. Her face began to ache and she reached up to touch it and then her aching head. She thought she must have looked a mess. Face bruised, probably swollen, in a dirty and torn night gown…

She wanted to run. The urge seized her as the fear grew. She knew what would become of them now. She knew, even if her sister had not, what these Raider’s really did to the human girls they caught. She swallowed hard, throat aching, and shivered as she saw one elf, the one that had pressed a boot to her chest, his large foot print still imprinted on her white nightgown, appraising her openly, a look of predatory lust in his aggressive gaze. But she could not run, would not run, without her sister.

Her father was dead. She knew it. They would not have spared him and she was shocked to realize she cared very little. There was the devastation that her life would never be the same. She may never have the comforts she enjoyed, the comforts she deserved, ever again. Her home was no doubt burned to the ground along with any important possession she had ever known. All she had was her sister now and she had to take of her. Varanda needed taking care of and after Skyrikk turned his obvious desires into action, she would need comfort and explanations. Her father had done so much to shelter Varanda that Adara did not know if she truly understood the extent of what occurred carnally between a male and a female of the intelligent species. She looked from the Raiders and to her elf… her captor.

“Am I prop…” she stopped, throat constricting and face burning. She lifted her chin, swallowing hard, and regained her composure. She would not crumple before these beasts. She’d not be the weak, pathetic, human female they all saw as nothing more than pleasure toys. “Am I property of the clan… or…”

“Or?” She heard Shyrikk ask, the simple word said in an almost sing song voice, taunting and amused, and at the same time, dark and cruel.

“Or do I belong to you?” she asked, looking at her elf… her beautiful, magnificent elf. His face was so hard, his eyes so intense, his look so contemptuous and judgmental, she was unsure which answer she wanted to hear.

“You are his,” Shyrikk answered for the elf and Adara let out a deep, shuddering breath. The moment Varanda was able, they would find a way to escape. She only hoped Varanda would be able to move before they got too deep into the Iss’ad Mountains. Then they would have more to worry about than just their elven captors.

“And… what should I call you…” she asked, her sight blurring slightly.

“You will call me Lord Tarsovlar,” he answered, voice deep and rich, perfect like the rest of him, and Adara almost laughed. Of course he was a lord. She was not struck by no sense of surprise and felt a perverse sense of pride. She had owned, for as brief as it was, a lord. Her vision blurred as the pain in her head grew worse. Her entire brain felt as if it were throbbing and she was having trouble seeing. She felt nausea sweep over her a moment before it passed, but then came back in full force.

“I got you to talk to me…” she said, looking at him, lips curving upward pathetically. She stumbled forward a moment but caught her balance. She had heard of the after affects people suffered after being hit upon the head with great force. Was she suffering from that ailment now? “Got you to…”

The last thing she remembered was collapsing to the hard unforgiving ground, a crumpled ball at Lord Tarsovlar’s feet. 


End file.
